


I Need Your Trousers

by dapatty



Category: House, M.D. - Fandom
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-15
Updated: 2008-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here there be slash and desk desecration. If that offends then best skip this</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need Your Trousers

“I need your trousers,” House demands. This was after he had stormed in, slammed the door—in the usual fashion—and leaned over Wilson’s desk, popping a lollypop out of his mouth and looking at his best friend pointedly.

“What?!” Wilson gapes back. Right, so not his best response, but he’s busy trying to get his footing after this particular request that he’s never gotten before, except for that one Christmas party.

“Yes, those sleeves your legs are wearing.” House says, making a ‘gimme’ gesture. “Your pants. Hand them over.”

“Is this about a case?” Wilson asks, standing up and undoing his belt.

“Yeah,” House attempts to state flatly, with a slight twinkle in his eye that he quickly scowls to cover up.

Wilson drops his pants… and pauses. The scowl was not quick enough. “Wait.”

“Step on out of those. Places to be. People to save.” House hedges.

“This has nothing to do with the case!” Wilson ascertains, pointing an accusatory finger in his friend’s direction.

“And I just lost fifty bucks because that was so easy.” House grumbles. “Damn Cameron.”

“You took bets?! Is there a pool?” Wilson sounds horrified. “…Only fifty bucks?” and maybe a little miffed.

“Speaking of Cameron,” House says and turns his head to Wilson’s office window. House gestures obscenely with his cane at the young woman standing in House’s office across the suite. _At least she has the decency to look somewhat put upon_ , Wilson thinks, _in a bemused sort of way_. Then something important occurs to him. “Oh God! The blinds are _open_!” Wilson exclaims, aghast, and nearly trips, stepping out of his pants on the way to shut the blinds, plunging the office into a light murk. Two more steps and he engages the lock on the door.

“That didn’t bother you the other day,” House pouts, but there’s a wicked gleam in his eye.

“My mind was _slightly_ occupied with something else during that little foray, I’ll have you know,” Wilson frowns, and puts his hands on his hips.

“Your mind isn’t perhaps occupied with thoughts of me bending you over your very neat desk and fucking your brains out? Is it?” House tilts his head, somehow managing to look serious and thoughtful while taking another lick on his lollypop that would have made a French whore blush.

“No!” Wilson denies vehemently, though it sounds a lot like a lie, and his face looks a lot like it’s blushing.

“That’s too bad.” House shrugs. “Because my team is supposed to be busy with the patient and I’m sure I could have made time out of my busy soap-watching schedule to—.”

“The lube and condoms are in the top drawer.” Wilson points out.  
“I know,” House beams cheerfully, discarding his lollypop into the wastebasket, then pauses.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Wilson asks with a flop of his hair and an eager look he tries to cover up with a wry expression.

“That’s a very good question,” House declares, tossing his cane to Wilson.

“So…” Wilson says, hanging the cane on his coat rack, “the front of the desk or behind the desk.”

“Front,” House grins and retrieves the lube and a condom, setting them beside a stack of patient files. “I enjoy the exhibitionistic thrill that someone might see my magnificent ass.”

“Of course,” Wilson deadpans and assumes the position; underpants around his ankles, legs spread shoulder-length apart, bending over his desk, torso resting on his monthly calendar, fingers curled loosely around the desk’s edge.

House rips open the condom, and he smiles a private smile that he reserves for times like this, letting his trousers and boxers bunch around his feet. He steadies himself with a hand on Wilson’s hip, slides the condom on his hard length, and lubes up. The remaining lube on his fingers he uses to slide into Wilson causing him to groan, leaning wantonly into House’s hand. “Guess I should check the ol’ prostate while I’m back here,” House says conversationally, as he brushes against that bundle of nerves, fingertips brushing teasingly.

“House,” Wilson groans. “Just fuck me already.”

“Such flowery language,” House mocks gently, removing his fingers and replacing them with his cock. “Careful, one of your patients might mistake you for a poet.” He grunts, adjusting to the delicious warmth and tightness, hands constricting around the shorter man’s hips. He slides in to the hilt, moving steadily back and forth until Wilson starts to pant and then groan increasingly dirty things the harder House’s thrusts become.

“ _Son of a whore-fuck-shit-HOUSE_!” he causes Wilson to cry.

His stokes become more frantic as he nears climax.

“Wilson,” House warns, voice thick with sex.

“House,” Wilson moans and orgasms, spilling come on the front of his desk.

House gives two last thrusts and climaxes with one last “Fuck!” He collapses on top of Wilson’s back. Both breathe heavily, waiting for their legs to allow them to stand again. After a few minutes, they untangle themselves from each other and find their respective pants. As Wilson is wiping the mess from the front of his desk, House says wryly, “You should really get your desk a slipcover or something.” Wilson barks a laugh as he tosses the soiled paper towels into the wastebasket. He starts to speak, but House chooses this moment to steal a kiss. His lips and stubble taste of sugar and sweat and the coffee he had been drinking this morning.

He limps out of the office, barely pausing to get his cane, leaving Wilson to smile crookedly to himself as House goes.


End file.
